Camdeboo Nights (5 page)

“Sit!” The man gestured at the empty desk in front of his table–the spot reserved for troublemakers–where, oft as not, Etienne ended up sitting.

She kept her head down, a red-gold strand of hair falling over her face as she seated herself. Etienne hated the way the others sniggered. His only consolation was that Odette was not here. Odette studied accounting and home economics. Mathematics was for boffs, according to her, although he never heard her rag Jean-Pierre for getting Bs. Jean-Pierre was on the rugby team. Damned jock.

Etienne tried to concentrate during the rest of the lesson but his thoughts fluttered about. He was only too glad when the bell rang. He’d go talk to the new girl, find out what subject choices she studied. Of all the crap things out there, starting at a new school halfway through the first term was near the top of the list.

Marianne and Aniska, two of Odette’s friends–or lieutenants as he preferred to call them–beat him to it, so Etienne followed at a distance, toward their English class.

They were sussing her out.

He watched, in the ten minutes before Mrs. Davis came in–late as always–how they congregated around Helen, asking questions. Helen’s gaze darted about–she was obviously bewildered by all the attention she was receiving.

During the tea break, he retreated to the library, and made himself as inconspicuous as possible among the shelves. Perhaps with the new girl here and Arwen absent, his tormentors would not seek their usual dismal sport.

Later, a message from Arwen did await him in his inbox, after all.

Hey Etti

I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner but I haven’t really been feeling at all well. Dad says I have to come back soon, so I’ll see you on Tuesday. They’re talking about sending me to the shrink again.

Laterz

Arwen

The message had been sent on Saturday. Etienne ached for Arwen. She’d fainted after that incident with Odette and he’d not been able to speak with her before the school nurse had booked her off.

After long break he had the first indication Odette would not accept Helen. In typical fashion, they’d invited her to sit with them in their circle on the school field beneath the poplar trees but he could see, as he walked past on his way to the library, their body language was not quite right.

They were interrogating her, and it didn’t look as if they liked all the answers.

Odette sat straighter than usual, somewhat apart, with Marianne and Aniska on either side of her, talking animatedly.

They may not do anything now, but he’d seen this little routine enough times in the past. He walked away, narrowly missing Jean-Pierre. That was a small mercy about being a little person. Etienne could slip into hiding a lot quicker than anyone else.

Arwen and her pet hobbit.
That jibe made him smile when no one was watching.

* * * *

Mr. Robins was their art teacher and classes were a haven for Etienne. Mr. Robins–a man gray and stooped before his time, yet still lively–never let Etienne feel as if he were anything less than normal.

Mr. Robins’s bright green eyes missed nothing. To him it didn’t matter that Etienne sucked at life drawing. Mr. Robins always said, “It’s not how you draw, my children, it’s how you express yourselves. An artist is a thinking and feeling person.”

Etienne didn’t mind that this man constantly referred to his students as “my children,” either. He somehow made the term sound dignified.

Etienne only took art classes because Arwen did and Mr. Robins made him feel as if he were the best thing since sliced bread–he couldn’t think of any other way to describe it.

Mr. Robins wore a wonderful, woody aftershave and sometimes, he’d stand behind Etienne, just breathing, and Etienne imagined he could feel the teacher’s heat radiating off him. This excited him in ways that he dared not voice.

The art studio was situated next to the music rooms. Even in the dead of winter, it was pleasantly warm here, although the air-con didn’t always work during summer.

Art wasn’t a popular subject at Rubidge Private Secondary School. The only kids who attended classes were the un-sporty misfits.

Helen’s fate was sealed when she stumbled in, five minutes late. It wouldn’t be long now, a week, perhaps.

You’re one of us
, he thought with a wry smile. Odette hated artsy-fartsy nerds, as she called them. He wore that badge with pride.

Chapter 7

It Starts

Rubidge Private Secondary School was nice enough, once Helen got over the initial strangeness. Built somewhere during the mid-nineties, the school’s buildings clearly leaned toward a Bauhaus revival that reflected a post-modernist trend–if she recalled her architectural studies well enough. But, somehow, the architect had tried to keep the style in character with the typical flat-roofed architecture of the old Karoo. She enjoyed figuring out the influences, hoping that when she got stuck into art classes the teacher would touch on architecture.

All the buildings were single-storied and fit together in neat blocks joined by covered walkways. The school had been situated roughly five kilometers outside of Graaff-Reinet, so it held an air of isolation. The white karees held out their scraggly boughs, not quite large enough to provide much shade but the verdant sport field situated next to the irrigation dam was the school’s pride and joy, a vivid patch of green in an otherwise beige landscape.

She assumed their father was responsible for the school fees, because most of the students were dropped off in the morning by parents driving Beamers, Benzes or large, shiny SUVs and the little savings their mother had would never pay for a private school.

Their grandmother, a stern woman who would only allow them to call her by her first name, Anabel–not
Ouma
or Grandmother–drove a beat-up stationwagon full of rust, which developed an alarming tremor on the dirt roads. They had spent a scant few nights acclimatizing to Nieu Bethesda’s lazy heat before Anabel had announced they would start at their new school.

Neither Helen nor her brother had boarded before. Thankfully, they’d still return to Nieu Bethesda over weekends. The dorms at school were in a series of four-bedroom chalets set on the slope of the hill overlooking the school. She had to give the architect that much, he’d tried to make things cheerful, only the edges were too sharp, and the paint too white in the sunlight. Each room slept two–only the grade twelves had the luxury of private quarters. Grade tens shared.

Her roommate was a quiet girl called Myrna Barry, whose father farmed sheep almost one hundred kilometers inland. Myrna rather spent her time chatting online with her friends on Facebook than speaking much with Helen.

Their room was large enough to hold two single beds, a table each and a cupboard, all plain, white-painted pine. Cold. Their window faced toward the slope and opened onto a large prickly, cactus-type shrub. No one would be sneaking in or out of her window.

Helen considered the strange boy she’d seen on the balcony back in Nieu Bethesda. Wild eyes had stared back at her from a thin face, like an animal, trapped and radiating tension. Muscles had twitched beneath almost translucent skin and a ragged wave of tangled dark blond hair had fallen all the way to his waist–a feral boy. He’d left her cold and part of her had been relieved their encounter had not continued past a moment of oddness she’d shoved aside for more mundane concerns.

Another mercy about their new environment made Helen glad. Their school uniform consisted of jeans and a light blue golf shirt emblazoned with the school coat of arms in darker embroidery over the pocket on the left-hand side.

Not as bad as the old government school they’d attended in Cape Town, with its slime-green blazers and natty tartan detail. Besides, Damon absolutely hated being forced to wear shorts. He’d sooner confound them by wearing shorts during winter when there was snow on the mountains. Backward child.

Finding the right classes according to her timetable proved a challenge. The various departments and studios were laid out around four quads, named after the directions, with a fifth, central quad making up the heart of their world.

Getting lost was bewilderingly easy, at first, and Helen was only too glad that so many of her fellow students were willing, and friendly enough, to give directions.

There were fewer students here–no more than sixty to a grade–yet even so, she struggled to keep up with the names. She’d smile, nod, and try to give them the impression she knew what the hell was going on.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad here, after all. She could still go to a home–of sorts–at the end of every week. Anabel had arranged a lift with another girl who was also a boarder, some gothy kid called Arwen who had, so far, been doing her best to avoid Helen altogether.

She’d only met her on Tuesday, during art, but the girl had looked away after greeting her with little enthusiasm, preferring to keep her head bowed while she sketched with her charcoal.

Etienne who, as it turned out, was Arwen’s closest companion, fascinated her, although she still did not know how to treat him.

His head only reached as far as her middle when they stood. When he sat at one of the desks, this difference was not as bothersome, for his arms and legs were very short, attached to a close-to-normal torso. However, when he waddled about, his movements were almost comical.

Also, she was reticent about befriending the odd pair, mainly for fear of offending Odette, the girl who had already done much to make Helen feel welcome–and wanted.

“He’s a real idiot, I don’t know why his kind is allowed here,” Odette said with a conspiratorial tone when the subject of Etienne first cropped up in their conversation.

“His father is an alcoholic, that’s why he’s here,” Aniska said. “His family has money, so they don’t want to send the dwarf to a reformatory, because he got caught stalking and assaulting a girl in Knysna. So, they’ve sent him here after paying the school a lot of cash.”

“That’s why Ms. Engelbrecht puts up with all the trouble he causes. She’s driving a new BMW.” Marianne flicked her long blond fringe out of her eyes.

Odette leaned forward. “Oh, he’s bad news, all right. Tried to push me into a wall last week, so we got JP to teach him a lesson. And that witch.”

Odd. The pair did not seem like too much trouble. Rumors of Arwen’s witchiness did not bother Helen in the least. She resolved to befriend the girl once they were on their way back to Nieu Bethesda on Friday.

The situation with Damon troubled Helen, once she’d caught up with him during supper on their first night in the dorms.

“What’s up with you, fuzz-brain?”

He looked up at her, his expression pained. “This place sucks.”

“We only just got here. Give it some time.”

“Easy for you to say, Ms. Popularity. You’re already hanging out with the right crowd.” He held out his arm. A set of bruises darkened his skin, looking as if someone had pressed their fingers into his flesh to leave the blurred imprint of four fingers and a thumb.

“Who did that?” Helen asked and ignored the looks her exclamation drew from the others seated at the surrounding tables.

“Your new best
tjommie’s
enforcers. Seems they’ve taken it upon themselves to pick on those who aren’t muscle-bound rugby freaks.”

“I’ll have a word with Odette tomorrow. Maybe she can talk to them, tell them to lay off you ’cause you’re my brother.”

“
Ag
, please, like that’s going to make a difference. You’ll just get yourself dragged down to my position in the process.”

“You’re my brother, for fuck’s sake!”

Cold snakes seethed in Helen’s stomach, and she’d lost her appetite for the rest of her supper.

Oh, she’d meant to confront Odette about this sooner, she really had, but Damon had convinced her that night not to fight his battles.

He wasn’t going to be her kid brother forever. One day she might look up to him for protection. Now, that was one helluva a weird thought.

The tenuous balance shifted on Thursday, while she walked from art to mathematics class, in time to see burly, black-haired Jean-Pierre shove at Damon as they descended into the quad.

Damon had the misfortune of being caught in mid-step, so had little opportunity to correct his stride. The armload of library books–heavy hardcover editions filled with bright reptiles and ancient history–didn’t help him keep his balance.